


arbitrary nature of thought.

by wadingpool



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anger, AtsuHina is minor, Crying, Depression, Dissociation, Established Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Family Dynamics, Family Member Death, Forgiveness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Injury, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Miya Atsumu-centric, Past Character Death, Platonic Cuddling, Reconciliation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vent Piece, Vomiting, Widowed, Widowed Suna Rintarou, this isn't happy at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wadingpool/pseuds/wadingpool
Summary: It hit Atsumu, all at once that, for the first time in his twenty-six years of living, he was well and truly alone. There had never been a time without Osamu; Osamu had gotten a meager twelve minutes, but Atsumu had never lived a minute of his life without his twin. It left him feeling hollow, knowing that he was now five months older than a twin that should've stayed twelve minutes older than him.He wishes he could tell Osamu that he had won; that Osamu had lived the happier life of the two of them.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 31
Kudos: 220





	arbitrary nature of thought.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 7/21/2020: [Kalli](https://twitter.com/sunaIuna) made a playlist for this fic and you can find it linked at the end (imo it is very good)
> 
> Hey, this isn't going to be a happy fanfiction. Surprisingly, I cried while writing some segments of this. It was all based on a challenge on writing an angst piece using only dialogue on Twitter and it inspired me to write this. I believe I'm putting more of myself in this than I have in any of my other fanfiction. I guess this might be my own attempt to settle trauma that I've had and to maybe lessen some of my depression. So, in essence, this is most definitely a vent piece.
> 
> It might come off as OOC, but hey, grief changes shit about you.
> 
> The title is from the song "I Am In Great Pain, Please Help Me" by Crywank. The song reminded me of how I'm writing Atsumu. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER:  
> Neither of the coping mechanisms Atsumu and Suna use are definitely not healthy in any shape or form. It was just some of my own ways I used to rely on to get by.
> 
> My first language isn't English so I am sorry if there are mistakes.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter or Tumblr, as linked at the bottom. Thank you.

It was in the silence of his apartment in Tokyo after everything had passed that the ground beneath his feet finally came crashing down. It hadn’t been going to the hospital, it hadn’t been the arrangements, it hadn’t been Kita or Aran or Akagi or any of his old and new teammates’ words, it hadn’t been the perfect face of indifference that Rintaro had put on as he clenched his fists, the only sign of anguish Atsumu could see in the widow. It hadn’t even been the sight of his brother in the coffin, completely still, ready to never be seen by Atsumu again.

It had been walking to the bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror that had made him finally fall to the earth. All he could see is his face, instead of blonde hair, there was brown, and his eyes were gray instead of brown. He feels sorrow and then pure, unfiltered rage surge through his veins and the next thing he knows, Shoyo is right next to him, holding his hand as he quietly pulls shards of glass from Atsumu’s hand. He forgot Shoyo was there, having made sure he got home. The ginger says nothing, giving Atsumu the silence he needed as Atsumu worked to calm down. He’s glad Shoyo doesn’t look at him; he can feel the shame curl in his gut, mingling with the sorrow and anger. He can feel the tweezers digging in and pulling at his hand, but he doesn’t register the pain, only Shoyo’s small hands patching him up. His mind drifts to Rintaro and he wonders how he’s feeling. Did the apartment feel empty? Is it too big? Does it feel too lonely? How did the apartment feel like with one less person whose mark was seen and felt in every single corner of what used to be a home? He remembers Rintaro’s blank stare as he looked at the casket. He wishes he knew what his brother-in-law felt. He wonders if Rintaro even felt a damn thing.

He didn’t play the rest of the season. Not out of his own choice, but Shoyo had been the one to tell him it would be for the best. “You know you’d just throw yourself into it,” Shoyo had said, hugging Atsumu tight and brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m worried about you. Please, take a break,” Atsumu had always had a hard time saying no to Shoyo. Shoyo was too good for him to ever deny him a thing. “Motoya says Rintaro is taking an indefinite break…” mentions Sakusa a few days later, dark eyes boring into Atsumu. Indefinite. Unknown. Unspecified. “Have you talked to him recently?” Atsumu doesn’t reply because he doesn't know how to tell his teammate that he hasn’t talked to Rintaro since the burial without feeling burning shame. He doesn't know what he would say to him. What do you say to the widow of your brother? What do you say to someone who has lost their other half? Atsumu has no idea. All he can think of is Rintaro’s blank face and it makes his stomach feel sick.

Oasmu's death is a catalyst for every negative emotion Atsumu has ever experienced bubbling up and spewing out of his mouth. He realizes how… lonely his apartment is, for the first time, as he starts his break from MSBY. It’s barren and drab and lacks any color. It doesn’t matter that the painting hanging in the living room is a mess of bright colors, or that there are mementos everywhere. A single glance at the old team photo that Kita made them take so long ago causes Atsumu shatters like the windows of a smashed-in car. The anger consumes him and it's almost terrifying in its intensity. He has never had so much fury in his life before and he absently wonders where it comes from. The hypotheses running through his head do little to stop as he throws glass against the wall and tears at pillows and destroys whatever he finds in his path. His hands reach for the picture, but they freeze, and all he can see is a younger Osamu sneering at a younger version of Atsumu in the chaos of that snapshot moment in time and Atsumu can only hold on to the frame for dear life as the apartment falls in on him.

It wasn’t until four months after the service that Atsumu brought himself to visit Onigiri Miya. Part of him almost expected him to see his brother behind the counter, chatting with regulars and bustling about. Instead of his twin, he finds Rintaro, quiet at ever, serving a few customers. He looks up at Atsumu with dull, golden eyes. His brother-in-law murmurs a greeting, before turning away, refusing to look at Atsumu as he sits down in the seat he always sat down in, right at the bar. It irritates him, making him clench his teeth in an attempt to stop snapping at the other as Rintaro carries on as if there were nothing wrong. As if Atsumu’s brother and his husband weren’t four months dead, buried six feet under. It takes all his willpower to not scream at the younger man, as he continues on without thinking about Osamu or without even a thought on how _Atsumu_ would feel that his brother was dead. “Rintaro,” he calls out, voice sounding sharper than he intended to. The other man turned to him, this time staring at him, the heaviness of his gaze pinning Atsumu to his chair, as he seemed to study everything about Atsumu. "Hello, Atsumu. What are you doing here?" asked Rintaro, voice giving away no hint of emotion. The anger simmered in Atsumu's veins; he kept a firm lid on it. “Heard you were on indefinite leave. Are you goin' back?” Atsumu’s eyes bored into the younger man as he went to refill the glass of a patron down the bar. Rintaro stayed silent, writing something on a small pad before responding.

“I’m not going to play anymore,” he announced, refusing to look at Atsumu. _The thing is, Atsumu, when it comes to the love of the game... That flame burns a bit more brighter in you than in me, you know?_ Atsumu can’t stop his fist landing on the counter, making those at the bar jump up. Rintaro, as fucking always, has no reaction. “What the fuck do you mean yer not playin’ anymore?” grit out Atsumu, anger burning as he glared at Rintaro. He can feel the other patrons staring at him, but what truly angers him is Rintaro not even sparing him a glance. It’s been like that since the funeral. It drives him insane, as he tries to hold onto any thread of tranquility to stop himself from lunging at Rintaro, who easily ignores his rage, going to give the bill to one of the customers. Atsumu immediately grabs his arm, gripping it tight, and Rintaro turns to him, face impassive. It makes Atsumu feel like garbage, to not be on the receiving end of one of Rintaro’s annoyed looks like he used to, fuels his anger like gasoline in a fire, testing his self-restraint. The silence stretches as Atsumu’s eyes burn into him. “Someone needs to take care of the shop. I can’t do it if I’m playing volleyball,” he said simply, as if he were talking about the weather and not throwing away the life he had painstakingly built. Atsumu’s grip goes slack and Rintaro moves away from him. Atsumu sits there as he watches Rintaro move on, like he’s seemed to move on from Osamu and him, before leaving, not looking back. He finds he doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

Shiyo's steady presence grounded him. It was a mess, _he_ was a mess; yet, through it all, Shoyo stood by him. It didn't matter how many tantrums Atsumu threw, Shoyo always knew how to bring him down from it. Shoyo was too good to him, always coming to Atsumu’s dull apartment, almost illuminating the dreary residence by himself. It left Atsumu breathless and for the first time since the funeral, he wonders if that how Osamu and Rintaro felt about each other. The thought, which used to make him happy for his brother’s happiness, left ash in his mouth. Rintaro has moved on, doesn’t even think about Osamu, not really. He’s just taking care of a business endeavor that was now in his and Atsumu’s name through his marriage with Osamu. Shoyo is quick to pick up on his mood, the sunshine being the first to gently hold his hand and give him a soft smile, not the bright beam he wore. It was a private one, one that belonged to Atsumu and it filled his chest with a warmth that he only seemed to be able to feel when with Shoyo. Atsumu doesn’t know what he would do without Shoyo, he knows he would like to be with him, he yearns for it, ever since he was seventeen after Inarizaki lost to Karasuno. He remembers Osamu teasing him about his promise to Shoyo, something that used to bother him but now something he desperately aches to hear once again.

“Maybe you should take a longer break,” Shoyo says one evening, as they sat on Atsumu’s couch, hands clasped together as the television droned in the background. Atsumu’s eyes widen but Shoyo holds up a hand to stop, giving him a sad little smile. “Not permanently. I could never tell you to leave the game, it’s something you’ve loved for so long, something you hunger for. To take you out of that would be cruel. But…” he says, placing his sun-kissed hands on either side of Atsumu’s face, thumb caressing Atsumu’s cheekbone “You need a break. You can’t keep going like this. Maybe… Maybe try helping Rintaro-kun at the shop. It might do you both good. Take a year off, and come back to me, and come back to the game,” Shoyo presses a kiss to his cheek, and looks at him, his eyes shining with the love they both held for each other. “Heal, first. Then, you can come back to this and we can figure it out,” They both know it’s not only about volleyball. It hurts, but Atsumu knows he couldn’t be the man Shoyo deserved if they started a relationship now. Shoyo doesn’t deserve anything but the best, and Atsumu knows Shoyo loves him too much to see him in pain. Atsumu isn’t ready, and Shoyo knows this. It makes Atsumu love him all the more. “You’ve done enough waiting for me. I think I can wait however long you need, Atsumu,”

He messages Rintaro and tells him he’s going to help at Onigiri Miya. Rintaro simply tells him he’ll prepare the spare room. They don’t talk more after that.

Living with Rintaro was something that was strange and different. It was oppressively quiet, neither being able to carry a conversation with the other, be it from Atsumu’s anger always boiling under the surface or Rintaro’s inscrutable demeanor; it had been akin to speaking with a brick wall. Rintaro was quiet, he'd always been, but now it was like living with a ghost and it drove Atsumu insane as he made his life in an apartment that used to be that of a happy couple. The wedding photos that used to hang in the hall were missing, the nails that were driven into the walls the only hint that there ever was something that hung there. It almost made Atsumu want to ask for the pictures to be put up, but he knew that seeing his brother on the happiest day of his life would drive him mad and surely kill him. It would kill him to see Rintaro's small smile as he stared at Osamu, only to turn from that moment in time and be faced with the reality that was Rintaro's bored face, looking as if that day meant nothing to him. As if _Osamu_ meant nothing to him. On most days, Atsumu couldn't bear even looking at his brother-in-law, not being able to believe this was the man that loved his brother. He wonders if Rintaro stopped loving Osamu, if he was just waiting the allotted six months of mourning to just move on and forget that there was ever someone called Miya Osamu who adored him and almost worshipped him. Who had been with him since high school and who supported him every step of the way. Atsumu sometimes wanted to leave, run away from the empty apartment filled with ghosts and do something, _anything_ , that would take away his anger and guilt and shame and sadness. He stayed. The six-month mark of Osamu’s death arrived. Rintaro stayed, too.

It was his birthday. Not _their_ birthday, not anymore; it was Atsumu’s birthday only. Atsumu had realized he was lonely, but as he saw the date turn to the fifth of October, he couldn’t stop thinking about Osamu. It was there, as he laid upon the guest room bed that it hit Atsumu, all at once that, for the first time in his twenty-six years of living, he was well and truly alone. There had never been a time without Osamu; Osamu had gotten a meager twelve minutes, but Atsumu had never lived a minute of his life without his twin. It left him feeling hollow, knowing that he was now six months older than a twin that should've stayed twelve minutes older than him.

He wishes he could tell Osamu that he had won; that Osamu had lived the happier life of the two of them. He wished to see Osamu’s smug grin, a mirror image of his own, teasing him at being a loser and that of course Osamu won, because he was the better twin. A feeling of longing hit him all at once, hitting him with the force of waves against a rocky shoreline, and he felt like he would drown in those unforgiving, dark waves. He stumbled out of bed, something crashing to the floor, but he couldn’t care less, as he ran to the bathroom and stared at his reflection. All he could see was Osamu, not even himself. He hadn’t dyed his hair in a long time, and the blond that used to be in his hair had long since faded to his natural brown. The same color that Osamu’s had been since he graduated high school. A shaking hand landed on the mirror and Atsumu was gripped with the fact that he was alone, truly all alone. They had been a set, one that should have never been separated. He wonders, if they hadn’t had the same face, if he hadn’t been with Osamu since the beginning, would he have started forgetting his brother? It filled him with fear, to think that.

He realized that he couldn’t remember exactly how his brother used to sound, right then and there. He could only stare at his brother in the mirror, as Atsumu moved around. It filled him with a coldness he hasn’t felt since the doctor had delivered the news to Rintaro and him in that damned emergency room. He felt the coldness swirl in his gut, and he lunged for the toilet, slamming the top open before retching, heaving out the contents of his stomach. He feels a thin hand land on his shoulder, and he turned to see Rintaro, eyes dead and with dark circles underneath, rubbing at his shoulder. He didn’t seem like he was all there, mind in a faraway place as he stared past Atsumu. It made Atsumu feel disgusted, he doesn’t know at what, and he retched again. Through his dry heaving, he thinks he hears a whisper.

“Happy birthday, Osamu.” Atsumu throws up again, not sure if the tears that leak out of his eyes are because of the burn of the bile or something else. 

After his birthday, it seemed like everything was worse and with the plumitting mood, Atsumu’s rage grew to new heights, indiscriminate in its fierceness. He’s broken more plates in the few months he’s lived with Rintaro than he has in his whole lifetime. What destroyed him the most, what made his anger burn so hot that it felt like he was burning alive from the inside, was Rintaro’s reaction, or lack thereof. Rintaro would simply stand there as Atsumu raged, not doing anything, not even flinching, only looking at Atsumu with the dead eyes that haunt Atsumu in his sleep along with whatever horror his brain concocts of his brother. Rintaro just stands there, statuesque, and then simply begins picking up the shattered glass or porcelain. Atsumu never hurts Rintaro, thinks he would sooner kill himself than harm the other man, because regardless of Rintaro’s apathy, Osamu loved Rintaro dearly and he knew his brother would hate to see Rintaro hurt, especially by Atsumu’s hands. It’s the only thing that keeps his violence restricted to smashing fragile things.

It was New Years. A new year, the first year he’s starting without Osamu. Rintaro hasn’t gotten out of bed, something that seemed commonplace with him, as Atsumu realized. All Atsumu can do is stare at the calendar and the minutes marching forward. Shoyo had called him, and just hearing the younger man’s voice had made Atsumu feel better until the call ended and with it, the warmth. He sits on the couch, and stares at a wall and suddenly the ticking of the clock in the corner seemed so loud and he feels something in him snap and he lets out a yell and grabs a book that had been on the table, throwing it at the clock in blind rage. It misses and the march of time was deafening, and it was oppressive and Atsumu felt like he couldn’t _breathe_ and he pulled at his hair as the clock kept ticking. He hated that time was continuing, hated that there was a new year that Osamu would never get to see. Osamu would never get to see that stupid movie he had been looking forward to, or to celebrate another birthday, or to grow old with Rintaro. Osamu will never be able to be twelve minutes older than Atsumu and he’ll never be able to adopt kids like he had mentioned he once wanted to back when they were in high school. Atsumu hears screaming and isn’t surprised to find it’s his but he doesn’t _care_ anymore, all he can feel is the rage in his system and drowning his lungs and making his organs feel disgusting and sick. He feels a hand land on his shoulder and can’t stop himself from lunging and gripping thin wrists. His fury burns and he turns to the intruder to see Rintaro. Atsumu isn’t gentle as he stands up, pulling Rintaro with him and pulls him close, seething with rage. He tries to contain his anger but the lack of reaction, lack of fucking _anything_ from Rintaro makes him lose his mind.

“What is wrong with you?!” he screamed, shaking wrists that were much thinner than he remembered. Rintaro remained silent, eyes seemingly staring past Atsumu, returning to that empty stare Atsumu had grown used to in the past few months. It was like staring at the eyes of a corpse. It almost felt like he were going to throw up. Everything had culminated into this moment and Atsumu knows he needs to calm down, he’s well aware that he isn’t being fair to either of them, he knows Rintaro loved his brother but the silence… the lack of familiarity… the lack of tears…

“Did you even love him?” The words burn like flames in his throat and he knows he’s being so needlessly cruel to Rintaro, but he can’t stop himself. He’s tired of feeling everything so intensely and for Rintaro to be fine, to be okay at all times... “How can I believe you gave a shit 'bout Osamu when you can’t even _look_ at me? When you don’t react and don’t cry or show fuckin' anythin'?!” Atsumu is a terrible person. He knows that he was angry at Rintaro because he didn’t want to be alone in his pain, wanted Rintaro to suffer with him. The silence is deafening in the living room of the apartment Osamu and Rintaro had once shared. For the first time in nine months, Atsumu sees emotion on Rintaro’s face. Rintaro had never been the most expressive, never having really needed to be when Osamu was right there to understand him. But Osamu wasn’t there anymore. Not to read Rintaro and not to quell Atsumu’s rage. Not to stop the pieces that had been haphazardly glued together after the accident from shattering all over the floor between the two of them. Fragile things were not immune to Atsumu’s anger, which destroyed everything indiscriminately, and Atsumu never realized that Rintaro counted in that. It was only a matter of time until he shattered Rintaro. The sorrow in Rintaro’s eyes stopped Atsumu’s rage in its tracks as Rintaro’s lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears, legs buckling underneath him as a heart-wrenching cry left the other’s chest. The anger that had once possessed Atsumu slipped away, leaving a freezing, emptiness constricting his lungs as Rintaro finally broke down in sobs. Were it not for Atsumu’s iron grip, Rintaro would have surely fallen to the ground. He wonders what Osamu would think of the sight. He thinks Osamu would hate him. It makes him feel like shit.

Rintaro had always been quieter than either brother ever since they met in high school. The man whose wrist he held was but a shadow of his past self, as his cries tore out of his chest and his hands shook and suddenly, Atsumu snapped back into himself and dropped to the ground with Rintaro, his own tears fell down his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he hears Rintaro’s voice crack and it shatters something in Atsumu that he didn’t know he had left, and he crushes Rintaro into his body, crying into his hair. All Atsumu can do is hold onto Rintaro as one of the last ties he has to his brother grips his shirt and just screams into an empty apartment. A cry for help to someone who will never walk the halls again, who will never sleep in a bed that had never been intended for only one, who will never wear the sweaters that still hung in the closet or will ever just simply lounge in the living room. All either of them can do is cry and hold onto each other, iron-grips making sure nothing takes the other away. The thought _not someone else, please God, don't take him away, too_ echoing in both of their heads as the ghost of Osamu stayed silent to their calls.

The silence that follows is just as heavy, as Rintaro weakly stays in his hold. Atsumu’s legs have long ago fallen asleep and the static was almost painful, but there was nothing that hurt worse than the reality the two of them lived. Atsumu didn’t dare to break the fragile peace that had formed in the suffocating silence. He didn’t want to be the one who broke it, because he knew if it wasn’t Rintaro who spoke, there might be no fixing it again. So, Atsumu waited for Rintaro to be ready to speak, for the first time since this nightmare started. “After three months, none of his clothes smelled like him again. I wanted to cry but… It felt like he took all the tears I could ever cry with him, and it left me with nothing, and what I did feel, I just pushed down because it hurt too much to think of him being gone,” came the whisper and Atsumu couldn’t help but wonder: Since when could Rintaro sound like that? The Rintaro he knew always had a blasé tone to his voice with a lazy grin. Reserved, with a tenacity and sly humor that captured his brother's heart. He had never sounded so weak and tired. He wonders how his own voice had changed. He wonders, if he calls Shoyo, would the other even recognize him? Would _Osamu_ even recognize either of them? He could almost hear his brother’s voice calling them lame. He wished he could hear it one last time.

Atsumu looks down at Rintaro, not being able to make out his face and takes the risk. “Nothin’ tastes the same, too, huh?” He feels Rintaro’s breath hitch before he nods. “It all just tastes… bland,” he finishes the thought. Atsumu hums in response, the fragile peace strengthening just the littlest bit. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to eat another onigiri anytime soon,” Atsumu says, resting his chin on Rintaro’s head. “…They’re still fun to make, sometimes. I know Osamu loved to make them for you,” Atsumu smiles at the memories and feels the pressure in his chest building up. For once, it wasn’t anger that gripped him, but the sorrow that had always been beneath.

“I… for the longest time, it hurt to look at you,” says Rintaro, and Atsumu swallows, feeling himself tense before forcing himself to relax. “Every time I looked at you, I would just see Osamu, but then it would just bleed into your image and it made me realize he truly was gone and I-“ Rintaro cut himself off, letting out a shaky breath. Atsumu clenched his jaw and thinks back to the early hours of his birthday, spent with Rintaro’s steady presence as he threw up all contents of his stomach. He hadn’t imagined it, then. “I would just… _leave_ sometimes. I knew you were there, but I couldn’t deal with it. It was too much... Sometimes I was scared that if I could crawl out of bed in the morning, it meant that Osamu wasn’t necessary in my life. It felt like I was just leaving him behind,”

Atsumu pulls back slightly and stares down at his brother-in-law, really looking at him for the first time in months. Rintaro had always been on the thinner side but going off the weight of him in Atsumu’s arm and how easily his hand wrapped around his wrists, Rintaro was thinner than he’d been in a while. His hair was unwashed and limp, eyes were always paired with dark undereye bags, and he had less energy than he ever had. Atsumu had been living with him for five months, consumed by rage, while Rintaro had been wasting away. Osamu would be ashamed of the two of them, maybe hit Atsumu over the head and scold Rintaro. He ran a hand through the dirty hair, ruffling the locks as he looked at slightly hollow cheeks, face a splotchy red from the crying. _Damn lucky yer still pretty, even when lookin' like a damn mess, Rin._ Atsumu’s willing to bet he doesn’t look any better, maybe even worse. Rintaro’s eyes swim with so much emotion that after months of blankness from him, it was almost overwhelming for Atsumu to see. He doesn’t back down, not anymore. For once, he doesn’t feel rage in his system as he sits on the floor of the dimly lit apartment they have been sharing. “I hated you for the first few months ‘cause of yer lack of emotion. I thought you just didn’t care. I...” Atsumu hesitates before pushing forward, “I know you love him, still do. I just wanted you to suffer like I did,” he gives a humorless laugh and squeezes Rintaro’s shoulders. “I’m still a real piece of work, still a damn right asshole,” They stay silent, the words hanging in the air as they sat together on the living room floor, Atsumu’s back against the couch. In the calmness, Atsumu decides he can’t leave it there. He can't leave their friendship in tatters, he has to do something, anything. Rintaro is his brother, and he doesn't want to lose another brother ever again.

He gives one final squeeze and reluctantly pulls away from painfully thin shoulders and stands. Rintaro staring up at him from the floor and Atsumu offers a hand, that Rintaro stares at. “C’mon Rin… We got somewhere to go,” the nickname almost sounding foreign leaving his mouth, and Rintaro’s eyes snap back at him, widening, before they filled with tears. Atsumu’s stomach drops and he opens his mouth to apologize because he didn’t want to be the reason Rin cried again, when Rin gives him a familiar, albeit watery, smile that feels like a punch to Atsumu’s chest, and accepts the offered hand. Atsumu pulls Rin up and the presence of the other feels right for once. It felt like how it used to, but Atsumu isn’t going to say he’s glad he has Rin back; Rin had been there the whole time, but neither of them could be there for the other. It was different now, something coming back after almost a year of nothing but dead silences and ghosts haunting their every hour. Rin doesn’t ask him where they’re going as they bundle up for the cold January weather. They both grab one of Osamu’s old coats, neither of them mentioning it.

The walk to the cemetery was quiet, yet a comfortable one, like they used to be when the three of them used to walk home from a long practice. It wasn’t happy, Atsumu doesn’t think that it will ever be happy, but maybe there’s a possibility for some kind of normal, a new one, as much as it hurts to think. The closer they came to the tombstone, the heavier the silence felt, the more biting the cold, the more imminent the feeling of dread. It reminded Atsumu of the moments of fear during his childhood that left him shaking and always ended with Osamu holding his hand despite grumbling about Atsumu being a crybaby and Atsumu instinctly grips the air, knowing there won’t be anything, no hand to hold and keep him grounded. Except, there is something. The hand is different, just a little smaller than Osamu’s, but Atsumu holds onto Rin’s hand with a vice grip as he sees the cool stone of the monument under a tree. It’s the first time Atsumu has seen his brother’s grave, the last time being a haze of anger and sorrow during the service. He bets it’s the same for Rin.

They stood in front of the tomb, neither speaking, holding each other’s hands in comfort. Atsumu never expected a piece of stone to ever hurt so much, but the past few months have been a hotpot of new experiences that he despised. Atsumu can hear the birds chirping in the naked trees and can hear Rin and his breaths. It’s in this silence that guilt and sorrow make their home in his heart and he opens his mouth to speak when Rin is the first to break the silence.

“You haven’t called me Rin in such a long time… I miss it,” he admits, eyes staring at the stone, mask having not slipped on. Maybe it shattered along with Atsumu’s rage. _He used to also call me Rin._ It goes unsaid, like many things between them. “I’m sorry,” Atsumu apologizes. Atsumu wants to be forgiven, he doesn’t care by who, but he wants to be forgiven. Rin turns to him and Atsumu can say fully that he’s missed Rin. Atsumu wants to be forgiven, it doesn’t matter by who, but it seems like maybe things will be okay if it’s Rin who forgives him. “I’m sorry, too, ‘Tsumu,” whispers Rin, acknowledging him with his eyes. Atsumu wonders if he has the same expression, the same desperation in his eyes, and it’s then that Atsumu realizes he and Rin might be on the right track. Rin is the one who initiates the hug this time, and Atsumu melts in his brother’s embrace.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move on from him, ‘Tsumu. It scares me. I don’t want to forget him, but sometimes… it’s getting hard to remember what he sounded like, how he brushed his hair, how he made his coffee…” cries Rin, and Atsumu can’t help the sob that escapes his chest as well. He clears his throat before replying: “I don’t know what to do, Rin. Everythin’ used to be so _easy_ with ‘Samu…” he lets out a shallow breath. “We can’t stop from forgettin’. In ten years, I think even _I_ won’t remember everythin’ ‘bout him. That scares me shitless, but… we’ll figure it out.” Atsumu promises and he truly believes it, because if he doesn’t, he won’t have anything to keep him going, and he knows Rin will follow him, as they both chase that promise.

They may never be happy until they die and they get to see Osamu again in the next life. He stares at the tombstone, again, Rin doing the same thing. "In the next life, let's be brothers again. We can try this happiness thing, one more time," he says aloud, and Rin grips his hand with more strength than he's felt from the other since Osamu's death. He shouldn't be surprised; Rin has, and always will be, so incredibly strong, maybe the strongest person he knows. "Let's get married again, 'Samu. One more time. I think we'll be able to make it." Rin echoes, that small smile, the same one he had on in his wedding and whenever he saw Osamu, gracing his face for the first time in nine months. Atsumu feels himself smile genuinely for the first time, even through tears.

_We'll try again, Osamu. Just wait for us._

**Author's Note:**

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